


A Cult Classic

by Aluthor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, kidnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluthor/pseuds/Aluthor





	A Cult Classic

_ This shouldn't be peaceful.  _ I thought, staring at the ceiling of Cindi's room.

Special attention was bad, why it happened was never consistent but what it resulted in was; she was going to hurt me. Maybe she'd lull me in and stab me again, maybe she'd just undercut her kindness with insults until I lost the will to live again, or maybe she'd try something new. All I was certain of was that it would be painful somehow, but less so if I could keep from falling into whatever trap she'd set - though that was easier said than done.

The door slid open and closed with a click. I kept staring at the ceiling.

"You know, some of your old cell-mates would kill to sleep in a normal bed. So if you can't appreciate the gesture, you could at least try and enjoy it for their sakes." She idled by the door, presumably checking the mirror next to it.

"None of those people are anyone's cell-mates anymore, you promoted them all to Members. And," I sat up, taking in her non-assuming stance. "why do you even  _ have _ one anyway? Demon's don't sleep." 

"Prisoners do." She caught my gaze through the mirror, continuing to straighten her clothes as she did.

"And what. You do this often?" I spat, wrapping my arms around myself.

"No..." She trailed off, readjusting a collection of perfumes on the set of drawers next to her. "I just like to have the option." I rested my arms on top of my knees, fiddling with my trouser legs. She was speaking in the absent-minded fashion that'd let me coax information out of her before, but my mind had gone blank. "Anyway," she said, turning from the mirror. "I've got work to do, so could you kindly," she flicked her fingers at me, and I glared back at her. And yet as she sat at her desk, I turned over anyway. On top of the covers though, one does not simply climb into their enemies bed without putting up a token protest first. Even though she was right, there was just no sleeping on those stone floors in the cells; and I was exhausted. 

When I woke to find Cindi's face hovering over mine, I reacted as any sane person would, by grabbing the nearest thing - a lamp - and swinging wildly. She caught it with a sigh and restrained me quickly, so quickly, in fact, that I had to sit there for a second remembering where I was.

"If this is how it's going to be every morning, I'm gonna have to send you back; side-effects or not." She deadpanned, my wrists still held above my head. While her eyes bore into my skull, she did let me lay there for a while, frustratingly out of breath and mildly panicked.

"Don't wake me up like a kid in a horror movie then,  _ Jesus _ ." She laughed quietly, stroking my face with her free hand.

"That'd take all the fun out it though~" She purred. Helplessly, I watched her finger-tips tracing my jawline, finding it to be strangely mesmerising. "Anyway," Suddenly she was across the room, her cold and professional air returning. "Attendance in 10, you're uniform's back in your cell." and she was gone. 

For a few moments, I let myself feel the comfort my unearned privileges were meant to make me. In a few minutes, I'd have to do the walk of shame, but for now, I was on a comfortable bed and had some semblance of privacy and that was nice. 

_ Of fucking course _ . The shreds of my uniform fell through my hands as I crouched over the bin that held my few belongings.  _ Of fucking course, they would do that _ . Other captives weaved around me with sympathetic glances, knowing what this meant. Time to go talk to The Caretaker. In my sleep-wear. Brilliant.

See the thing about being a Daevas captive was, everything is specifically designed to give you hell. For example, the designated sleep-wear. First of all, you could guarantee no-one in the lower levels had a new set, which might not be so bad, if we weren't all hyper-aware that their previous owners didn't exactly grow out of them. Secondly, they were designed to make you feel vulnerable, so think shorts and an ill-fitting tank top. And The Caretaker had some nasty rumours about him - none of which I really doubted, unfortunately.

Looking around as if for a solution to my problem, I sighed. If I left now, at least I could blame him when I'm late for attendance.


End file.
